If I had words
I would speak
In a forest I became sound
A crack in a wall.
A crack in a wall in a room.
A crack in a wall in a room in a house.
A crack in a wall in a room in a house in a field.
A crack in a wall in a room in a house in a field in a landscape.
A crack in a wall in a room in a house in a field in a landscape in a world.
A crack in a wall in a room in a house in a field in a landscape in a world in a space.
The collapse of features.
oscillate between these banks
where grey spray scatters sadness into my soul
that I will not find, what I love in what I do,
but what I do is more necessary than what I love.
that the streams I’ve cut through,
have cut through me,
I have merged and diffused into them,
impossible to distinguish.
dwell into vision. inhabit a space.
imagine it as a sphere.
augment its horizons.
diminuish its truth.
shift its boundaries.
shift its poles.
conjure its ghosts.
imagine its skins.
imagine it new. imagine it being you.
Fade into you /
into the void
ancient capital of change and echo,
palmed by Catalfano and Pellegrino,
two mountains, casting shadows,
shaping hands that wander
carving the cities outlines.
People of palermo
Dedicate the young to night
expose the old to light
So there, time
Vibrates / vortexes
Pours out of broken cups on the city
The people of Palermo prefer to be nameless.
They never announce themselves by names – they recognize themselves
In other terms.
To strangers they introduce themselves,
with invented names and invented lives.
They are as convincing – you never meet a person twice.